Phoenixes in the Flood
by love will not hurt
Summary: Derek and Spencer spend a weekend away. Morgan/Reid. DOES NOT TAKE PLACE AFTER PROFILER, PROFILED.


Author mentions: I have taken too long to write this. I didn't edit thoroughly. Any mistakes, obviously on me. I am very guilty about my lack of consistency. Takes place a week after Profiler, Profiled.

Rated: T

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Derek Morgan

Disclaimer: I have Friends season 1 -5 on DVD, a bookmarked page of Spencer Reid quotes, two new black ink pens, but alas, no Criminal Minds.

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_well, you have suffered enough_.

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Reid relishes in the few days they're allowed off.

When he first started, like everything he had strove so benevolently for, he never quit and never stopped. He had exceeded in every way that was possible, save for blatant naivety of never dealing with rapists, liars, people who killed in real life. He outshone his team members, not only with his curious youth but his stunning intellect, becoming efficient in his paperwork completion and his eagerness to do even more. However, back then, he was more lonely then ever.

Reid knows that once in while, Rossi will option to speak at a college as a guest, or JJ will hop on a flight down south (for reasons she assumes are well hidden), while he can imagine Hotch spending whatever salvaged time he has with his son, Jack.

He used to love to settle in for a long weekend, content on having more paperwork and possibly a Star Trek marathon one of the random channels. Chinese take out, sleeping in, and spaceships were his days without the BAU.

Not anymore.

Ever since the influential love of Derek Morgan, everything seemingly has tipped on it's axis. Morgan owns four properties, which he likes to frequent as much as he can when he has time. While Reid likes to sleep, Morgan likes to reconstruct, build and redo his homes until they are some kind of perfection only he can see.

As Reid is a lackluster driver and is generally irritated by traffic, Morgan will take his giant, gas-guzzling black SUV, similar to the ones owned by the FBI. While Reid tries not to complain at how utterly unhealthy it is to indulge in something so bad for the environment, this is the man who has four properties to begin with. He foresaw no reason to say anything. There were seat warmers, which Reid tended to favor very much.

It was a Thursday when they piled into the Tahoe, Reid with a book in hand and the String Quartet CD in his hand, a gigantic afghan wrapped around his whole body. He hadn't bothered to dress in actual clothes, rather paisley pajama bottoms and a green wool sweater. After spending the night before with Morgan, he was exhausted enough that he didn't really care what he looked like. Morgan, of course, was up at the crack of dawn and was dressed impeccably as he loaded the trunk, little clouds of cold mist blowing out of his mouth into the bright morning air. Reid was slightly annoyed by his refreshed and rejuvenated appearance.

"I still don't understand why we have to be up at this ungodly hour. You know, a person can develop several immune deficiencies without a lack of sleep, healthy breakfast and going from extremely warm temperatures to extremely -"

"If we don't start off early, I'll end up all day in bed with you -"

"Which I don't really find to be a bad thing -"

"But then I won't be able to get what I want done at The Tides -"

"I still think it wouldn't be a day wasted." Reid grumbled. Morgan came around to passenger side, cupping Reid's jaw and kissing him softly. He smelled of mint toothpaste. Morgan, unfazed by the brisk air, smiled harmoniously when Reid shivered. Morgan curled the giant afghan more tightly around the slight man before go around the front of the car and starting the engine. He checked his mirrors, and backed out as they headed to the beach.

"You know, I really think that name you gave that place is overused and under creative." Reid mentioned as Clooney attempted to lick his ear from the back seat. Morgan shot him a look.

"Oh? What am I supposed to call it?" he asked superciliously. Reid pondered for a moment, putting his slipped feet underneath his knees. "Well?"

"Be patient!"

"I'm dying here. _You're_ telling _me _to be patient? You?" Morgan asked as they took the freeway, the sun fully visible and sunny.

Reid huffed, looking sleepy and frazzled. "Yes. Are you taking issue with it?"

"Not at all, babe."

"It's so inconceivable that you'd call me something known as condescendingly degenerate as 'babe'." Reid asked. "I find you rather imprudent this morning."

Morgan sighed. "Only you would insult me like that."

"Like what? Oh, are you making fun of me for the way I speak?" Reid said, rifled, but a small smile was tugging threateningly on his lips.

"Not at all, love. You're just, you're adorable when you're sleep deprived."

Reid was put off. It seemed Morgan was only enjoying this. How could this man, who had gone to bed well after Reid and gotten up earlier than him, be in such a happy disposition? His eyelids felt heavy, and he blinked for a solid moment.

He felt a hand on his thigh, which had become uncovered by the thick blanket. "Sleep, baby. There is a nice bed waiting for you when we get there."

"But you won't be in it with me," Reid mumbled softly. It was the closest to whining as he ever got, and Morgan always forced himself to be grateful for that. There were always too many close calls not to be.

"You might be surprised. Though I do have work to do." He mentioned as an afterthought. Reid fiddled with the volume, turning up the violent orchestra progressing mournfully out of the speakers before placing his head against the window and closing his eyes, rain drops on the other side sliding down the pane thoughtfully.

Sleep seems to make him weary, because the next thing he knows is that he is lying face down on a cotton pillow, the sky a tranquil cover that looked velvety from the window next to him. Reid woke up utterly warm, from his bones and inner organs to the skin between his fingers, his eyes sore from being closed for so long. He didn't want to sit up, rather, he attempted to roll over a bit, his body otherwise completely still. It was a nice feeling, but it felt like he was missing something.

Morgan.

Reid could dazedly remember stumbling out of the car and into the nautical home Morgan was currently renovating. He had walked up the whitewashed staircase, and into the top floor where the bedrooms lay. The main bedroom, which had tall and encompassing navy blue walls, and a vintage looking white dresser and a nice, inviting down comforter resting on an equally enjoyable bed.

Most of things in the house, like the table Morgan had gotten at a pricey department store in Quantico, that sat now in the dining room, or the unnecessarily equipped shower nozzles that sit positioned for his dispose in the master bathroom, where things that Reid had no visual recollection of. He could imagine them furtively though, as Morgan had gone into great detail of what they were. His excitement at remaking something beautiful excited him more than most things.

It was night now, Reid came to the conclusion drowsily, and he attempted to sit up. It was proving to be difficult, as he was so tightly wound in his blankets, like poorly mummified restraints. The house was quiet, save for the trickle of rain and the random creek of the floorboards. It meant Morgan was somewhere in the house, possibly reading, or watching television; Reid hoped with a spare thought he could be cooking.

He had to massage his leg down for a solid ten minutes, and Reid did it with a bit of a bitter edge, he felt an unabashed need to go find Derek. The rain persisted harder against the roof and the window pains, and it was similar to a constant ticking that occurred in his head.

It proved difficult for Reid to forget the surging pain in his leg, the gush of blood that had sprouted, the weakening feeling of losing so much blood from when he was shot to save a doctor - whose karma, Reid remarked to himself bitterly as he attempted to stand, heat rushing out of his legs at once - was less than charitable. However, he was doing even better without the cane, as he shook out his toes and rolled his ankle, before heading down the stairs.

The house was rather dark. The floor was cold, even through his socks, and he could feel the pads of his feet tickle as he pressed on them, a quiet aching acting up in his leg. He passed the living room which was white wash and cottage like, a cotton covered couch, a light coloured wooden coffee table. Seashells sitting on the mantel. The dining room was still was a shed for all of Morgan's tools, half of the walls painted in primer, the only complete piece of the room was the archway that led to the kitchen.

That's were Reid found him. Morgan's back was to him, washing down a counter and singing along softly to Sinatra. The stove's timer when off, and Morgan turned around, unsurprised, to smile at Reid. "You're up just in time for dinner!"

Reid frowned slightly, lowering himself into one of the oak chairs. "I thought I would sneak up on you?"

"Reid, you're noisier than you think. I could hear you wake up. " Morgan said reproachfully, and set two plates on the table.

"It's this leg. I think I'm losing all faith in being smooth again." He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Wait, you were smooth at one time?" Morgan laughed, putting his hands on either sides of Reid's face, and demanding a soft kiss. A small moan sounded at the back of Reid's throat, and he reached up, grabbing the muscles of Morgan's shoulders like they were labels, wanting more. It was one of those times where kissing him like this, where Reid lets the compliments and shyness be forgotten, where Morgan forgets to reign back his aggressive manner, the hot, hot heat building up inside them.

The speed at which the escalated was debatable until Reid was wrapped around Morgan's waist and the rain against the windows seemed to overpower the sounds of Morgan's feral moans and Reid's small, incessant quips. In a matter of time they moved up the stairs and fell back into the bedroom Reid had been in fifteen minutes ago, the blankets still slightly warm, a reminiscent smell lingering on the fabric.

Clothes became shed, and Spencer's tender thigh was known of, the soft caresses contrasting the frantic kissing, and it wasn't long until they became the same person, disappearing in between the sheets.

"We forgot all about the dinner you cooked," Reid mumbled lazily, looking at his fingernails, his hand wide and flat on top of Morgan's chest. The older man was staring up at the ceiling of the house. He was listening the to rain, a small smile on his face. It was incessant.

"That's okay, though. It wasn't an original recipes anyway." He said without much interest to the cold food down the stairs.

"You did get a lot done, didn't you?"

"Quite a bit. You slept through it all."

"I was very tired."

"Jet lag from Chicago."

Reid propped an elbow up to look Morgan in the eyes, studying his face, the sharp jaw and the dominant line of the mouth, even in a smile. The dark, slouchy circles under his eyes. "I know we talked...but you...."

Morgan sighed heavily, avoiding eye contact with his lover. "I'm okay."

There was a long silence.

Finally, Reid murmured, "You don't seem okay to me," and he presses his body against Morgan in a way only he knows how.

The rain persisted on for three more days.

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it's time for me to make it better

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a review?


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